The Future's Open Wide
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Buffy rolled her eyes. "Not to step on both your fragile male egos, but they attacked me first. And you might have noticed the lack of octopi on their uniforms?"


**Title:** The Future's Open Wide

**Author:** Jedi Buttercup

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary:** _"Not to step on both your fragile male egos," Buffy rolled her eyes, "but they attacked me first. And you might have noticed the lack of octopi on their uniforms?"_ 1700 words.

**Spoilers:** Post-series for B:tVS, and post-Captain America 2 in the MCU.

**Notes:** 24 Days of Ficmas 2013, Day 17: for polgara_5. Prompt: "Buffy, Clint, Tony (pairings not necessary); Buffy wasn't quite sure how she ended up as part of the trio, but her life was definitely not boring." Originally posted to LJ on 10/25/14. Title is a lyric reference.

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><p>Exhaustion pulled at Buffy like an undertow, as if someone had sneakily turned up the gravity when she wasn't looking. She sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck where the tendons along her spine ached with high-strung tension, and tried to blink away the dry, sandy feeling hovering at the back of her eyes. It had been a long, long day.<p>

"Adrenaline crash is a bitch, isn't it?" She felt the words as much as heard them, vibrating through her torso from the new friend pressed up against her right side. He sounded nearly as weary as she felt.

Buffy groaned and let her head fall over against his shoulder. He'd been a good half a foot taller than her when they were both on their feet- especially after she'd snapped a heel on her brand new, wine-colored workday heels and kicked them off- but slumped on a park bench, they were close enough in height to provide her with a well-muscled pillow without any awkward stretching.

A _very_ well-muscled pillow. She would totally be seeing those biceps in her dreams again, later. But at the moment, she was having enough trouble just keeping her eyes open, never mind eyeing up her temporary slayage partners.

She'd kept up with the news ever since aliens and magic had finally gone mainstream a couple of years before, of course, and had no desire to challenge _either_ of the scary redheads in their lives. But she didn't think they'd blame her for a little female admiration. Because: seriously. Hawkeye's physique was all the evidence _she_ needed that God was a woman, and Iron Man's moves were nothing to sneeze at, either. Even- or maybe especially- considering all he'd had with him was his flimsy suitcase suit, rather than one of the heavy-duty battlesuits that he usually appeared in on the news.

"Someone stop the world, I want to get off," she complained, wearily.

Her Slayer healing would take care of the fresh bruises, scrapes, and exhaustion soon enough, but at the moment she ached like crazy, and she hadn't even dared to look at her knees yet. It wasn't the way they were stiffening up that bothered her, it was the way her suit pants clung, stickily, to the skin. She'd hit her knees _hard_ on the sidewalk outside her office in the same stumble that had ruined her heels, unable to catch herself with her arms full of injured bystander. The attackers who'd chased her through the building hadn't seemed to care much about collateral damage, and if she hadn't fallen nearly at the feet of a pair of out-of-uniform Avengers, that might have been the end of the longest-lived Slayer's career. Luckily, the bad guys had left the civilians alone once they had _three_ foes to worry about.

"Should have thought of that a couple of hours ago," Stark replied, slouched back against the bench on the other side of her. He wasn't as touchy-feely as- what _was_ Hawkeye's actual name, anyway?- but he seemed equally loathe to split, after what they'd just been through. He was still wearing what was left of the suitcase armor: most of the torso, both legs, and one of the repulsor gauntlets, but he'd lost the helmet at some point. "I think you missed your chance."

Buffy sighed, reluctantly straightening back up. "Oh, I'm sure they'd be back, if I waited long enough. I don't think the rest of my friends would appreciate it much, though. Sorry about all this, by the way. You guys have enough enemies, you didn't need mine added to the list."

Hawkeye, who had been sitting with his head tipped back, staring up at the clouds, also straightened as she spoke, furrowing his brow in her direction. He made a picture worthy of a painting, complete with scowl, tee shirt torn and stained, and blood streaked through dirty blonde hair several shades darker than hers. The bow slung over one shoulder- a neat collapsy model that he'd produced out of his own briefcase, even sexier in Buffy's opinion than the arms that had wielded it- completed the image: _superhero, bloodied but unbowed_.

"What do you mean?" he asked, intently. "Those guys were after _us_. Me, really."

Stark ran the ungauntleted hand over his face, backing his friend up before Buffy could interject. "Right. I went over the files SHIELD uploaded with JARVIS and a fine-toothed comb to take down anything that impacted the Avengers, including the targeting specs HYDRA fed Project Insight, but I guess I didn't get it down fast enough. How else would they have known where to 'x' the map for Clint Barton? You've been off everyone else's radar for months."

Barton- so _that_ was his name- snorted. "Figures. Guess it's a good thing I called Hill, instead of Sitwell, to find out what the hell was going on; if you hadn't come by to pick me up..."

The never-quite-banished cheerleader portion of Buffy's personality wanted very badly to squeal with glee that she'd apparently been working in the same neighborhood as one of the Avengers for _months_; but the veteran Slayer held majority vote these days, and rolled her eyes instead.

"Not to step on both your fragile male egos: but they attacked me _first_. And you might have noticed the lack of octopi on their uniforms? And the fact that most of them were carrying antique weapons instead of guns?"

"You're talking to the Avenger whose primary weapon is a _bow_," Barton replied, very dryly; his tone was light, but his eyes were shrewd. "I suppose it seemed a _little_ unusual, but after fighting alongside a guy with a sentient hammer, and taking down a god who loved his spears and knives..."

Buffy remembered wielding her own superhammer, against another god who preferred to take the fight in her own manicured hands. "...Point."

"...But you make an interesting point, too," Stark said. "Namely, that we somehow completely failed to introduce ourselves. Hi, I'm Tony Stark!"

He extended his gauntleted hand, obviously a test; she took it without flinching. "I gathered. Buffy Summers, pleased to meet you."

"...Holy _shit_," Barton breathed, eyes widening in comprehension.

Wasn't _that_ interesting. Buffy grinned, and turned to him next. "Pleased to meet you, too, Mr. Shit," she said, sweetly.

His eyebrows flew up; behind her, she heard Stark snort in amusement. "Very funny," Barton continued. "I'd heard that about you, too; death in a tiny package, mouth as lethal as her fists."

"Really," she replied, pleasantly surprised. She'd known that word would eventually spread among the other secret communities after she and her friends started gathering all the Slayers under one banner; but she'd worried that none of them would take a petite blonde seriously.

"Heard from _whom_? Flatter her later, Barton; c'mon, fill me in."

"That is a long, _long_ story I wouldn't believe if Natasha hadn't been the one to tell it; but suffice to say, she could give Nat a run for her money."

"Seriously? _Romanov_?" Stark's eyebrows went up as he eyed Buffy again, from dusty head to stubbed toes, and addressed her more directly. "Okay... yeah, I guess I can see it. But why would you assume that means they were after _you_, not Barton?"

"Let's just say my organization has been around since before the Middle Ages. The weapons thing? Kind of traditional in our circles. And then there's the fact that my day job is at _least_ as insulated from public databases as I guess yours was supposed to be." She nodded at Hawkeye. "In fact..."

She shifted in her seat, groaning as she retrieved the smart phone she'd tucked at the small of her back; the screen was cracked, but it still lit up. A number of message alerts scrolled up the lock screen, full of capital letters, punctuation, curse words, and demands to know whether she was okay. "Looks like they hit a lot of us today. Must've got my people's names just like you said- we'd been negotiating with SHIELD, and those Nazi wannabes wouldn't be on our Christmas list anyway. If they sold our locations..."

She sighed, and started the process of heaving herself to her feet. "Guess I'd better check in."

"Hey, wait a minute," Stark objected, dented metal joints creaking as he followed suit. "I don't care how badass you are, you aren't going anywhere 'til you're patched up. Call in, let your folks know you're alive, and... hey, is there a shawarma joint around here?"

Clint's shoulders slumped again, as tension began bleeding back out of him. "Not shawarma this time; nothing against it, Stark, but I'm more in a pizza and beer kind of mood." He smiled wryly at Buffy. "Might as well give in, it's kind of a post-fighting tradition by now."

Buffy couldn't help but smirk back; sounded like the Avengers had their own version of the H and H's. This might have been a way more dramatic first meeting with their people than she'd ever intended, but she approved of what she'd seen. They were _all_ gonna need whatever allies they could get as SHIELD's implosion shook up the shadow landscape.

"Comfort food? Sold," she smiled back, and held out her hand again. "If you let me look at your bow later. I'm a pretty decent shot with a crossbow, but I've never tried one like yours."

"You drive a hard bargain," he said, but took her hand, warm callused fingers enveloping hers as she levered him to his feet.

"Pizza it is, then! Happy's on his way; you can call your friends in the car on the way to the Tower," Stark interrupted. "Admiration society later, remember?"

"Aw, Stark, are you feeling left out?" Barton snarked.

"Gimme a minute, and I'm sure I can come up with something appropriate..." Buffy mused.

Stark reacted with a hand to his chest, as if hurt... but there was a familiar glint in his eye: the kind of guy who gave as good as he got.

Buffy still wasn't exactly sure how she'd got there, or what would happen next; but whatever it was, in these guys' company? She doubted she'd ever be bored.

-x-


End file.
